The Potters and the Sorcerer's Stone
by WriteRight969798
Summary: The same Harry Potter you know, just with a slightly meaner twin, who goes along with him for the ride. The plot of everything will stay pretty much the same. It will just be different because of the character I added. DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything in this story except for my own character and the things that react to them.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

THE TWINS WHO LIVED

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. They Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had children too, a boy and girl, twins, but they had never seen them. Those children were another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with kids like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.

None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He go into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar-a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen-then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive-no, it was _looking_ at the sign; cats couldn't read maps _or _signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except the large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of the town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes-the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt-these people were obviously collecting for something…yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. _He_ didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard-"

"-yes, their children, Harry and Ivy-"

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stoked his mustache, thinking…no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such and unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had kids named Harry and Ivy. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his niece and nephew's names _were_ Harry and Ivy. He'd never even seen them. It might have been Harvey and Iliana. Or Harold and Isabella. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at the mention of her sister. He didn't blame her- if _he'd _had a sister like that…but all the same, those people in cloaks…

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o' clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost dell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passerby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining thing, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw-and it didn't improve his mood-was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door' problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley had tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report of the evening news.

"And, finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in the daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping patterns," The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be anymore showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that. But its not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early-it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley froze in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters…

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er-Petunia, dear-you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls…shooting stars…and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today…"

"_So?_" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought…maybe…it was something to do with…you know…_her_ crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their kids-they'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't they?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What are their names again? Harold and Irene, right?"

"Harry and Ivy. Nasty, common names, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did…if it got out that they were related to a pair of-well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters _were _involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind….He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on-he yawned and turned over-it couldn't affect _them_….

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blues eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just appeared in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again-the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald green one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff too if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no-even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked he head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls…shooting stars…. Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down at Kent-I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out in the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really _has _gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A _what?"_

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who _has_ gone-"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense-for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name:_ Voldemort._" Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know-Who, all right, _Voldemort_, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too-well-_noble_ to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the _rumors_ that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're _saying_," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. They rumor is that Lily and James are-are-that they're-_dead_."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James…I can't believe…I didn't want to believe it…Oh, Albus…"

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know…I know…" he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' kids, Harry and Ivy. But, he couldn't. He couldn't kill the children. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry and Ivy Potter, Voldemort's power broke-and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's-it's _true?_" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done…all the people he's killed…he couldn't kill two little kids? It's just astounding…of all the things to stop him…but how in the name of heaven did Harry and Ivy survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why_ you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry and Ivy to their aunt and uncle. They're the only family they have left now."

"You don't mean-you _can't_ mean the people who live _here_?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore-you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son-I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry and Ivy Potter come live here!"

"It's the best place for them," said Dumbledore firmly. "Their aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to them when they're older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand them! They'll be famous-a legend-I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Potter Day in the future-there will be books written about Harry and Ivy-every child in our world will know their name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before they can walk and talk! Famous for something they won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off they'll be, growing up away from all that until they're ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes-yes, you're right, of course. But how are the children getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though he might be hiding Harry and Ivy underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing them."

"You think it-_wise_-to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to-what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky-and a hug motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so _wild_-long tangles of bush black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got them, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir-house was almost destroyed, but I got them out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. They fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visibly, was a baby boy and a little nose pressed against the side of his face from the baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where-?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"The girlie's is much worse, sir," Hagrid added, dragging his thumb down under the blankets to reveal the left side of the baby girl's face. She, too, had inky black hair. Her scar, however, was bigger and placed directly on the eyelid and eyebrow of her left eye.

"Oh, dear God." Professor McGonagall put her hand over her mouth. "Can't you do something about them, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well-give them here, Hagrid-we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry and Ivy in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I-could I say good-bye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and Ivy and gave them what must have been a very scratchy, whispery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it-Lily an' James dead- an' poor little Harry and Ivy off ter live with Muggles-"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low gardens wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry and Ivy gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside the blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the tiny bundles; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'd best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall-Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck to you two," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry and Ivy Potter tossed in their blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on his sister's, which she automatically gripped back, and they slept on, not knowing they were special, not knowing they were famous, not knowing they would be woken in a few hours time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that they would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by their cousin Dudley…. They wouldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry and Ivy Potter-the twins who lived!"

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	2. The Vanishing Glass

CHAPTER ONE

THE VANISHING GLASS

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their niece and nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets-but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign that two other children lived in the house, too.

Yet Harry and Ivy Potter were still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Their Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry woke with a start. Ivy's snoring stuttered slightly then continued on its normal pattern. Their aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he'd been having, but accidentally rolled over onto his sister, who was laying next to him in the bed.

"Ouch, Harry," she slurred before pulling her arms out from under the covers and yawning while she rubbed her eyes. She laid her head in her hand, twisting so she could see him, and rested her elbow on the pillow. "What was that for?"

"Sorry, Ivy," he mumbled softly. He looked into her eyes and felt that she was curious as to why he had been so careless in moving this morning. Normally, he was more careful than she was. "Have you ever had a dream that seemed really familiar and had a flying motorcycle in it?"

Ivy looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Sometimes, there's this really old guy and a giant in it too."

Harry was relieved she had the same dream. It shouldn't have surprised him, really. They were twins after all.

Ivy flinched, hearing her aunt back outside their door.

"Are you two up yet?" she demanded. Ivy rolled her eyes at the door and Harry chuckled at her.

"Nearly," said Harry.

"Nope," replied Ivy.

"Well, get a move on, I need Ivy to look after the bacon and Harry to look after the eggs. And don't you dare let them burn. I want everything perfect on Dudley's birthday."

Harry and Ivy groaned simultaneously.

"What did you two say?" their aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing…" Harry told her.

"I groaned!" Ivy shouted happily, grinning at the door. Unlike Harry, she chose to actually show her dislike of the Dursley family.

"Why you little…" Their aunt's voice faded as she walked back down the hallway while Ivy snickered in the bed.

"Oh, Dudley's birthday!…" Harry jumped out of the bed and looked

for socks. Ivy scooted over to the edge of the bed and reached under it, giving

Harry the pair of socks she found there after flicking a spider off of one. They

were used to them, because the cupboard was full of spiders, and that was where

they slept. Ivy and Harry had a conversation one day about what they were going

to do after they grew a little more. They barely fit in the twin bed that was shoved

into the tiny space as it was.

Ivy went to bathroom so they could both get dressed before meeting Harry

in the hallway.

"Did you really forget it was Dudley's birthday?" Ivy asked Harry before muttering, "The little twat always get whatever he wants and doesn't even appreciate it."

Harry shrugged in answer and they continued into the kitchen. Ivy snorted toward the table that was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise-which was probably why Ivy had snorted-unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bag used to be Harry up until Ivy had pushed Dudley down the stairs from the top when he had tried to chase Harry down. He didn't look it, but he was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. Ivy was actually about two inches taller than him and just as skinny. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Not that Ivy had it much better. She may have gotten brand new clothes, but they always gave her the most ugly and misfit ting clothes they could find. (Ivy thought Aunt Petunia deliberately went to the plus size section in the thrift store and picked out the biggest ones.) Harry had a thin face and knobbly knees. He shared the same black hair and bright green eyes he loved with his sister. He was jealous of his sister because unlike her, he had to wear round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him in the nose before Ivy could find him. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightening. Ivy loved hers just as much, if not more, because it was visible since it crossed from her left eyebrow over her eyelid to the bottom of her eye. She thought it showed how strong she had become. They'd had them for as long as they could remember, and the first question he could ever remember Ivy asking their Aunt Petunia was how they had gotten them.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

_Don't ask questions_-that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry flipped the eggs and Ivy turned the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of morning greeting to Harry. Uncle Vernon just ignored Ivy, as he always did when in her presence, while she just smirked in his direction.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way-all over the place. In contrast, they almost never touched Ivy's hair, which was pin straight down her back and never wild. She barely had to even brush it in the morning.

A little bit later, Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel-Harry and Ivy often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig. One time, after Aunt Petunia had told them the story about how the stork brought the babies, Ivy told Harry it must have been in a hurry and just dropped Dudley on the cement as close to the house as it could get him without having to lower him closer to the ground.

Harry and Ivy put the plates of eggs and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Ungrateful little prat…"Ivy muttered under her breath. Harry had to steel himself from laughing at how true it was.

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over while Ivy just rolled her eyes at the oncoming Dudley-tantrum and transferred her bacon onto Harry's plate and hoping he would gain a little weight from it. She was concerned about how skinny he was.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another _two_ presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty…thirty…"

Ivy snickered.

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia, who glared at Ivy out of the corner of her eye while Ivy made the face of innocence back at her.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry, Ivy, and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take them." She jerked her head in Harry and Ivy's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry and Ivy almost jumped for joy. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for a day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry and Ivy were left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. Ivy thought the old bat was hiding a secret. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made them look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry and Ivy, as though they'd planned this. Ivy glared back at her with her arms crossed over her chest and Harry looked sheepish. They knew they ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when they reminded themselves it would be a whole year before they had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates those kids."

The Dursleys often spoke about Harry and Ivy like this, as though they weren't there-or rather, as though they were something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend-Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave us here," Ivy suggested. She and Harry had been wanting to steal Dudley's computer and watch whatever they wanted on television without the Dursleys yelling at them.

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I'll make sure she doesn't blow up the house," Harry added hopefully, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take them to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "…and leave them in the car…."

"That car's new, they're not sitting in it alone…."

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying-it had been years since he'd really cried-but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let them spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I…don't…want…them…t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "They always sp-spoil everything!" He shot Harry and Ivy a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms. Ivy checked to make sure Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon weren't looking in their direction before smiling sweetly and flipping him off. As Dudley's mouth flopped open and his eyes bulged in surprise, Harry smiled widely at his sister.

Just then, the doorbell rang- "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically- and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Peirs Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hits them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harry and Ivy, who couldn't believe their luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursley's car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in their life. Their aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with them, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry and Ivy aside.

"I'm warning you two," he had said, putting his large purple face close to theirs, "I'm warning you now-any funny business, anything at all-and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"We're not going to do anything," said Harry, elbowing Ivy roughly in her side to get the message through, "honestly…"

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and Ivy and it was just no good telling the Dursleys that they didn't have anything to do with it.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barber's looking like he hadn't at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry until Ivy walked by and stomped on his toes. Harry spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in the cupboard for this, though he had tried to explain that he _couldn't _explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Ivy had walked in the door from school and heard Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon called their parents freaks of nature. Ivy walked straight into the kitchen and stared at them as every faucet in the house turned on and the glass vase on the kitchen table had exploded, sending glass shards everywhere. Apparently, she had also cracked the windows and a chunk from the television screen was missing. She had gotten five weeks in the cupboard for that one.

On the other hand, they'd gotten into trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing Harry around as usual, with Ivy chasing after them, when, as much to Harry and Ivy's surprise as anyone else's, there they were, sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from their headmistress telling them Harry and Ivy had been climbing school buildings. But all Harry had tried to do (as they shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of the cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. They supposed the wind must have caught them mid-jump, with Ivy jumping at Dudley and his gang.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, their cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Ivy, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

"…roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," Harry blurted, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front of them, causing Ivy, who was practically sitting on top of Harry so they could fit Piers and Dudley's fat bottom in the back with them, elbowed Harry in the ribs and smashed his head lightly into the window. As Harry groaned lowly from the pain in his head, Ivy barely had time to give him an apologetic look and a little mumbled "sorry" before Uncle Vernon had turned around to yet at Harry, his face like a giant beet with a mustache: "MOTOCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered. That is, they did until Ivy sent them 'the look'-the one where her emerald eyes darkened to the color of pine trees and she radiated this cold, dark air-and the look down at their laps in terror. Harry's lips curled up at the corners at their fear.

"We know that!" Ivy snapped at Uncle Vernon. "It was just a dream, Vernon. Geez."

His sister defending him made him feel better, but Harry still felt as if he shouldn't have said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than his and his sister's asking questions, it was when they talked about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was a dream or even a cartoon-they seemed to think they might get dangerous ideas. Of course, with the way Ivy acted toward them, it was easy to see why they thought that.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Ivy what they wanted before they could hurry them away, they bought them cheap lemon ice pops. They weren't bad, though. A little sour, maybe, but still good. Ivy and Harry licked them as they walked over to the gorilla exhibit.

Ivy cocked her head to the side and stared at a gorilla near the back as it scratched its head. Harry followed her line of sight, watching the gorilla as well.

"Looks a bit like Dudley, huh?" Harry asked, looking at his sister.

She laughed before replying, "If it had been blond, they'd have been twins!"

Harry laughed with her, enjoying the time they were spending out together. They spent plenty of time together already, but there wasn't much to talk about besides school and their current living arrangement. Coming to the zoo would give them something to talk about for at least two weeks.

This was the best morning the twins had had in a long time. They were careful to walk a little ways apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of trying to hit Harry while Ivy threatened their lives. Well, that was Dudley's favorite hobby. Harry secretly thought Piers only did it to get Ivy to talk to him because he had a huge crush on her. He had hinted it to Ivy once, but she got a sickly green look to her face and shook her head at him before telling him that it was a disgusting thought. Harry agreed.

They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and allowed Harry and Ivy to finish the first after Ivy argued with him about how it was a waste of money to have bought it and then thrown it away.

However, the twins both knew it was too good to last, though they both hoped.

After lunch they went to the reptile house, Ivy practically bouncing with excitement. She loved snakes, something Harry didn't entirely understand. When they were seven, she found a garden snake in the back yard and tried to keep it as a pet. She even got it into the house without Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon noticing. However, it got under Dudley's pillow one night, and, well….Needless to say, the snake is now in heaven and Ivy didn't come out of the cupboard for almost two months.

It was cool and dark in the reptile house, with lit windows along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Ivy's eyes were wide as she took it all in. Dudley and Piers wanted to see the huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can-but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep. Ivy thought it was cute.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined to his father. As Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, Ivy opened her mouth to yell at them for disrupting the creatures peaces. Harry, anticipating this, quickly gripped her hand and squeezed it as tightly as he could. She let out the tiniest squeak and tried to pull away from him, but Harry held on and glared at her. She stopped struggling, closing her eyes and taking a small breath to help her keep her mouth shut.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped on the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Ivy shook her head as she watched him walk away. "He does not understand what true beauty is."

Ivy pulled Harry in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake with a sad expression on her face. Harry looked at it to, thinking that he wouldn't have been surprised if it had dies of boredom itself-no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass to disturb it all day. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he and his sister got to leave to the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until it was level with theirs. It seemed to be glancing between them.

_It winked._

Ivy gasped before looking at Harry, who was still staring at the snake. She nudged him lightly with her shoulder before asking, "Did you see that too?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, relief evident in his voice. "Good to know I wasn't the only one. Did anyone else see it?"

Ivy glanced around quickly before shaking her head. "I don't think so. I don't think they'd really have noticed anyway."

"You're probably right," Harry sighed before they both turned their heads back to the snake.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that's said quite plainly:

_"I get that all the time."_

"You poor thing," Ivy said to it. "I would hate it if that happened to me every day."

"I know," Harry added, though he wasn't sure the snake could even hear them. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where are you from, anyway?" Ivy asked curiously, her head cocked slightly to the side.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it, Ivy hovering to see over his shoulder.

"What's it say?" Ivy asked, breathing in Harry's ear. He swatted her away and wiped the warm, wet feeling off of his ear. She pushed him slightly and narrowed her eyes at him. "I can't see with your big head in the way."

He threw her a glare over his shoulder and rolled his eyes, knowing she was just being an annoying sister. "Brazil."

Ivy nodded thoughtfully as she looked back at the snake. "Was it nice there?"

"The sign said it was bred here," Harry replied to her. The snake nodded in agreement.

"Well, that stinks," Ivy said, not really knowing what else she could say to that. "Would you like to eventually go there?"

As the snake nodded its head, a deafening shout behind Harry and Ivy made all of them jump. "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling toward them as quickly as he could. Ivy and Harry shared a brief glance of panic as they looked between the snake and Dudley.

"Out of the way, you," Dudley said, pushing between Ivy and Harry. Harry used one hand to grab his ribs and the other to grab onto Ivy's arm as she fell to the ground.

"Why, you little berk!" Ivy growled out as she got up. Harry wrapped his arms around her torso and held tight as she moved to go after Dudley. She jostled in his arms but managed not to his him in his already bruised ribs.

What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened-one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Ivy and Harry gasped in unison as they both saw that the glass of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. Ivy stopped struggling to get out of Harry's arms as she stared at the snake, which was uncoiling itself rapidly and slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid past the twins, they both could have sworn the snake said, "Brazil, here I come…. Thanksss, amigosss."

Harry and Ivy were in shock. So was the keeper of the reptile house.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again.

Ivy rolled her eyes and whispered in Harry's ear, "The poor thing deserved to get out. No one should be kept in a box for people to look at and whisper about for the rest of their life. I'm happy for it."

Harry agreed.

Piers and Dudley could only gibber while in the office. As far as Harry had seen, and Ivy had laughed about, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to taunt Harry and say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you , Harry?"

Harry just shook his head and looked out the window as Ivy laid her head on his shoulder. He could feel the muscles in her jaw clench, but she didn't say or do anything. They knew they were in enough trouble as it was.

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry and Ivy. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go-cupboard-stay-no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy. Ivy was oddly silent during this, her eyes looking a little glassy, as if she were lost in thought.

Ivy curled into Harry for warmth in their cold, dark cupboard later. Harry wished he had a watch. He didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

Ivy was fast asleep on his shoulder. Harry was worried about her. Today had been one of the rare times she showed her vulnerability, and when that happened, she was usually quiet for a couple days and wouldn't eat anything. Yeah, Harry needed to get to the kitchen to get some food for her before she didn't eat for a while. It was his turn to take care of her.

They'd lived with the Dursleys for almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as they both could remember, ever since they were babies and their parents had died in that car crash. Harry couldn't remember being in the car when his parents had dies, Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in the cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He asked Ivy about the once, and she said she remembered it, but when he asked if she could remember anything else about the crash, her eyes got that glassy look in them and she shook her head, staying silent. Another vulnerable moment.

Harry couldn't remember his parents at all. Ivy always went silent when he asked her anything about remembering them, so he stopped asking them. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course he and his sister were forbidden to ask them questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When they had been younger, Harry and Ivy had extensive conversations as they imagined different scenarios where some unknown relative would come and take them away, but it had never happened: the Dursleys were their only family, apparently. Yet sometimes they thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat that had bowed to them once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking them if they knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out if the shop with buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved at them merrily once when they were on the bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken Harry's hand in the street the other day and then walked away without another word. Well, he had tried to shake Ivy's hand, too, but she just took a step behind Harry, crossed her arms over her chest, and j raised her eyebrows at him. Then the man smiled at her and left. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry or Ivy tried to get a closer look.

At school, Harry had no one but his sister. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses and that they were more or less afraid of Ivy Potter, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.

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